


Imagine Thorin and Dwalin challenging anyone that dares to insult you

by forestofmyown



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, Political Undertones, Public Humiliation, Reader-Insert, Self-Esteem Issues, racial undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown
Summary: Despite the efforts of the entire Company, you don't feel as though you belong with them.  You have no talent you can think of, and you are extremely clumsy.  It's that clumsiness, however, that sparks a barroom brawl that ends with you happier and more sure of your place with the Company than ever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on: www.imaginexhobbit.tumblr.com/post/136259903257/imagine-thorin-and-dwalin-challenging-anyone-that
> 
> Request by: http://averil-of-fairlea.tumblr.com/ (I think ... If I'm remembering right)
> 
> Originally posted at: http://imaginingmyforest.tumblr.com/

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. Heat has taken over every pore of your skin, is bubbling the liquid in your stomach so that it twists and squirms inside you. You want to vomit. That will only make it worse.

The floor before your eyes swims. Laughter has drowned out all other sounds. You know there was a band playing a moment ago. You know not everyone in the pub can be laughing at you. But that’s all you can hear. It’s mortifying.

Ale is soaking through your clothes. You literally landed in the food you’d been carrying when you fell. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve so fabulously demonstrated your ability to mess up any situation you find yourself in. “Clumsy” is practically your defining trait. 

You can’t help it. Whether it’s hand-eye coordination, putting one foot in front of the other, or even stringing a sentence together, you’ve been cursed with bad fortune. No amount of effort on your part has been able to do anything to remedy it.

And you’ve tried. You’re traveling with a group of very talented dwarves, after all, and each has taken time to try and help you in some way or another. 

Bombur tried to teach you how to cook; you accidently set him on fire. Bifur wanted you to help him craft small tools and toys; almost anything you touched cracked in some irreparable manner. Bofur simply tried to teach you a song; turns out you can’t carry a tune and have a bad memory for lyrics, not to mention no rhythm to speak of. 

Lacking rhythm turns out to be a downfall in learning to sword fight, as well, you find; Fili’s lessons go south quickly, with quite a few injuries to you both that had nothing to do with actual intention. Archery lessons with Kili go about the same, with not a single arrow hitting the target; half of them barely leave the bowstring that you can’t even pull back without assistance.

You break every one of Nori’s lockpicks during your lesson. Ori, bless his heart, tries to be encouraging, but your handwriting is atrocious, your grammar lacking, and your ability to put thought to parchment abysmal. Dori rants for hours about how confused he is that you managed to butcher brewing tea.

It only takes you wasting Oin’s herbs once in a failed remedy before he declares you hopeless and never allowed near his precious stores again. Gloin claimed not to believe all this hubbub about you being unable to do anything, and set out to prove it by having you sharpen his axe-blade; he admitted defeat graciously afterward and bought a new axe rather than attempt to salvage the damaged one.

Balin had sat down with you for quite some time, asking questions, determined to either find something he could encourage you about or help you be more confident in yourself. The conversation had ended with you in Balin’s arms, sobbing hopelessly while he remained silent, unable offer any consolation.

Dwalin and Thorin hadn’t even bothered with you.

Of course not. They’re important dwarves, after all--one a future king! No time to waste trying to take pity on one insignificant person. You were lucky the others cared so much that they had even tried.

And it all had been for nothing. You’re practically worthless, and you have no idea why they even keep you around. You certainly make things more difficult for them, slow down their journey at every turn, and are in general just dead weight. Apparently, you couldn’t even bring food and drink to their table without making a scene!

Your arms tremble, your eyes burn, and you feel frozen in place, unable to move, unable to run and escape the laughter around you, closing you in.

“SILENCE!”

The commanding roar is deafening, and the entire pup goes dead quiet at once. Your head shoots up to find Thorin up out of his seat, glowering about the room. Despite his small stature, he cuts a powerful figure--powerfully build, shoulder thrown back, exuding the air of kingliness that comes so naturally to him. His piercing eyes are a weapon unto themselves.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you flinch back, head darting around to find the source. It’s Dwalin, kneeling at your side. His hand is held out to you.

You take it without really thinking about it. Compliance seems natural. Dwalin’s grip is surprisingly gentle, not even fully clasping your hand. He acts as merely a steady brace to lean against as you stand.

He nods to you once you’re on your feet. Again, the gentleness of the gesture surprises you. More so when it disappears as quickly as it had come, traded instead for a sweeping glare he sends across the room.

“Anyone else want to laugh?”

No one speaks at first. Several people fidget uncomfortably. 

A man at the bar ‘tsks.’ “What are you getting all mad at us for? No need to get your britches in a twist. It’s not our fault your friend can’t walk without taking a spill. It was funny!”

You flush and look away.

“Someone’s misfortune is never amusing.” Thorin’s voice is a growl, low and dangerous.

The man visibly swallows, but doesn’t back down. “It’s the third time they’ve fallen tonight, and they’ve been bumping into people and tables even more than that. They shouldn’t leave their table if they aren’t prepared to get laughed at for being so hilariously inept.”

Thorin’s head slowly cocks to one side.

Dwalin moves forward. His steps are loud and heavy, echoing in the air.

“I’m gonna need you to take that back.”

There is no request in his words.

The man scowls. “Oh, lighten up. You dwarves are too serious. Ain’t no harm done. Isn’t that right?”

He looks to you, a smile on his face. It seems cruel to you, no matter if he really means well or not.

How many times have you been laughed at like this? Told you should be used to it, that if you didn’t want to be laughed at, you ought to do something about your clumsiness--as though this is something you choose to be, or are just too lazy to improve yourself. 

He doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know a thing about you, about how you’ve lived with this for as long as you can remember. The abuse you’ve suffered because of it. The work you’ve put into being better. The disappointment you’ve faced at it all never making a difference.

You’re clumsy, overweight, insecure, and certainly no dwarven beauty. But you’re a good person. You don’t deserve this.

You wish you could say those words out loud, but you’re certain you’ll throw up if you try to speak.

Dwalin and Thorin both look at you, and your eyes dart between them before looking away, anywhere but at them or at that man.

“What’s wrong with you? Can’t you speak up?” Oh, why won’t he stop? Why won’t he just go away?

“That’s enough.” It’s Thorin again, and his words are delivered with such harshness even you shrink back. “You are going to apologize to Y/N.”

The man slips off his barstool and stands, rising to his full, considerable, human height. “And why don’t you just make me, dwarf?”

Thorin meets the man halfway across the room, and Dwalin is at his side, cracking his knuckles. 

The man just grins. There’s no pretense of humor in his expression anymore, just just callousness. “Please, get as many of your little pals up with you as you can. You’re going to need the help.”

“Not a one of us would need help against the likes of you,” Dwalin comments. “But I stand aside for noone when it comes to defending Y/N’s honor.”

Thorin nods. “Agreed.”

“Because the pathetic thing can’t do it themself?” The man taunts.

Thorin and Dwalin both glare at him at once.

“They don’t have to.” Dwalin growls.

“We take care of our own,” Thorin emphasizes. “It doesn’t matter what Y/N can or can’t do. Y/N is Y/N, and they’re fine as they are. And what they are is one of us.”

Perfect you are not. But it’s suddenly very clear that you are loved all the same. Your faults, whatever you see them as, don’t seem to matter that much in comparison.

Not to them; not to your family.

“Oh, what?” The man barks, clenching his fists at his side. “I’m the bad guy now? Can’t have a little fun and some laughs at the pub, got to throw out my sense of humor for some overly sensitive dwarves? Go back to your rocks and dirt holes, and let some of us enjoy our time off at peace in our own bars!”

Thorin quirks a brow. “Mahal forbid you be considerate of others’ feelings.”

“Or share a public space with those who aren’t your own kind.” Dwalin adds.

“But you still owe Y/N and apology, and you’ll have no peace until it’s done.”

“Here’s your apology!” The man lunges.

He rears his fist back, and throws all his weight down into the punch. It connects with Thorin’s face.

The prince’s head moves with the impact, his leg swinging back to keep him in place. 

The man smirks as he pulls back, as though he think’s he’s made some sort of point with this display.

Thorin turns his head back, eyes narrowed. “You should have apologized.”

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Dwalin is on him. The man cries out, spins, but there is no fending off Dwalin. He is like a stone golem, throwing punch after punch, delivering kick after kick, even using his skull as a powerful weapon of pain. 

While the man is distracted, Thorin steps up. Behind him, the whole table of dwarves--all eleven of them--are on their feet, but Thorin raises a hand and none of them move. Thorin waits till Dwalin moves back and the man turns his way again. He moves for Dwalin, but spots Thorin out of the corner of his eyes and doubles back. 

Thorin makes sure they have locked eyes before swinging.

So enraptured are you at the fight that the touch of a hand on your shoulder has you shrinking away in surprise and fear. But it’s only Balin, smiling at you kindly. 

“Would you like to go get cleaned up?”

“But Thorin and Dwalin--” You begin to exclaim, looking back to the fight.

Balin puts his hand back on your shoulder, making to turn you away. “It will be over soon enough, don’t worry about that.”

He seems amused. It’s easy to see why.

The human man, no matter his stature or muscle, has never stood a chance in this skirmish. Where he once towered over the two dwarves, now he kneels before them, cowering, trying to nurse the wounds inflicted in an onslaught that is no longer coming. 

Thorin and Dwalin stand aside, unwinded.

Two other men shuffle up, doubled over as though to make themselves small, watching Thorin and Dwalin warily. The dwarves make no moves against them. They grab their downed friend under the arms and pull him up. They have to half drag him away.

Thorin eyes the room again. “Does anyone else have anything to say against our friend?”

No one so much as breathes this time.

Dwalin smirks. “I thought not.”

“A-alright everyone!” The barkeep calls out nervously. “S’all over with now. Back to your business, yeah?”

Movement begins, subdued at first, but gradually growing more animated. The bar comes back to life and Thorin and Dwalin turn their backs to it. They look at you.

You want to say thank you. It doesn’t seem like enough. Nothing could ever be enough. Those sensations that have always been a result of your failings--the twisting in your gut, the heat in your face, the frog in your throat--you feel them all now; but it isn’t a bad feeling.

The tears are trailing down your face. You can’t stop them, don’t know what started them. But none of it is bad.

You aren’t bad. You are loved.

So, so loved.

So you just smile. It’s all you can manage. When you can speak, you’ll say the words. But right now, this is enough.

You know it, because Dwalin and Thorin both nod. 

Thorin then looks away. Nowhere in particular. Just away. 

Dwalin shoots a look at him, then smiles at you and turns his head as well.

“Come on,” Balin says softly, guiding you towards the hall. “Let’s get you cleaned up now.”

You let him. His touch is gentle, his smile never wavering. He doesn’t seem to mind the muck on your clothing at all, and doesn’t shy away from you.

“It’s good to know.” He comments lightly. “That, when you can’t always defend yourself like you’d want to, you don’t really ever have to.”

You swallow hard, placing your hand on his.

As the chatter from the barroom starts to fade away, you hear Kili’s loud voice.

“I get to beat the next person who insults Y/N!”

A growl answers. “You’ll have to go through us first, boy.”


End file.
